


Baby, You Deserve A Treat

by rosalililia



Category: GOT7
Genre: Established Relationship, Explicit Sex, Feminization, Idol Im Jaebum | JB, Kink Discovery, Lingerie, M/M, Makeup Artist Bambam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-31
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:01:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26205364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosalililia/pseuds/rosalililia
Summary: Bambam remembers the Chanel Rouge he had impulse-bought and that he had barely used on anyone, treasuring it away inside his bedroom with a hint of guilt. When he thinks of it now, he pictures it coloring Jaebeom’s pretty, heart-shaped lips, smudged after kissing it off him, and almost shivers.
Relationships: Kunpimook Bhuwakul | BamBam/Im Jaebum | JB
Comments: 4
Kudos: 57





	Baby, You Deserve A Treat

Bambam feels his cheeks get a little warmer than usual when Jaebeom reenters the studio where they are shooting and all eyes turn to him, including his. He’s changed out of the cargo pants he was wearing earlier and the oversized t-shirt that drowned his frame, and into a sparkly Yves Saint Laurent shirt that fits snugly around his broad shoulders, laced around his neck. Bambam almost squirms at the sight: he had been dying to, at least,  _ touch _ that shirt ever since he’d seen it on the latest NYFW show and it looks even more gorgeous on Jaebeom. Breathtakingly so, he may add. He not only wants to touch it anymore, but peel it off Jaebeom’s milky skin, kiss every square inch of naked flesh he can find as he unbuttons it, to watch it fall to his bedroom floor.

Before Bambam has the time to process any of it, at least four different hands have hurriedly crowded around Jaebeom, adjusting the shirt, tucking it in, making sure everything is in place. They cinch a pair of pants around his small waist, adding a little gold, dangly belt that shines under the warm lights of the studio. Bambam sighs at the sight of its little gold plate in the shape of the Chanel logo, his fingers itching. He wonders, wishfully, if they’ll let Jaebeom take something with him back home.

When he looks back up at Jaebeom’s face, he’s looking right back at him, over the stylist’s assistants’ heads as they make him lift his arms, turn slightly to the side, fix the collar of the shirt. There’s a faint flush spreading through Jaebeom’s cheekbones, his ears and neck, and his eyes have an extra sparkle to them that makes Bambam want to kiss him  _ so badly _ . Instead, he just has to content himself with smiling reassuringly at his boyfriend from across the room. 

Right after they get the stylist’s approval on the clothes, someone points Jaebeom to the chair that Bambam’s is leaning his forearm into, directing him to sit in it. It makes Bambam giddy, and he knows he gets a look or two as he circles Jaebeom’s wrist with his fingers once he gets closer and forces him to sit. “Here, hyung.”

He usually doesn’t get to do Jaebeom’s makeup for most of his magazine features, and only works for him on his live broadcasts and promotional shoots under the actual company they both work for, and maybe on tour, very occasionally. When the magazine had contacted him, he had agreed instantly, almost jumping out of his own skin in excitement.

“We are going a bit heavier on the makeup today, hyung,” he tells him, reassuringly patting his shoulders before pinning Jaebeom’s long hair back, away from his cheeks. “It’s gonna look so dreamy.”

Jaebeom just rolls his eyes a bit, amused, but the shy, little smile adorned with fondness that he saves for Bambam is still there, pretty and calming. “Okay, Bam,” he softly says.

The makeup is actually not much, especially by idol standards, but it  _ is _ too much by Jaebeom’s own standards, which mostly consist of foundation, chapstick and a bit of bronze eyeshadow to emphasize his catlike eye-shape.  _ Boring _ , Bambam thinks most days, when he offers to do a heavier eyeliner and Jaebeom refuses with the excuse of it smudging and being annoying.

The creative team for the shoot had decided on an apricot blush high on Jaebeom’s cheekbones, over the perfectly shaped bridge of his sharp nose, that Bambam applies generously, making him look sunkissed and almost childlike. He grabs the lightest brown eyebrow pencil he can find last minute and adds a few freckles where the blush is heavier, for good measure. 

He has a few lip tints to choose from and he instantly goes for the one he knows will look a bit more on the intense side, something Jaebeom has most likely never worn before. He makes sure to apply it diligently around Jaebeom’s pretty, heart-shaped cupid’s bow, making his lips look plumper and like they have just been bitten into.

_You can’t kiss him here. You can’t kiss him here. You can’t kiss him here. The lip tint is almost $30._ _You can’t kiss him here._

Jaebeom seems to read his thoughts right through his eyes, looking up at him with a glint of mischief in his. He puts his lips together tightly, spreading the lip tint around in spite of Bambam’s chastising look, like he usually does when he has to resist the urge to kiss Bambam in public.

The hairstylist moves around them in that moment, freeing Jaebeom’s hair from the pins Bambam had used to pull it back and wetting it slightly. Bambam watches, out of the corner of his eye while deciding on which highlighter to use, as Jaebeom casually pockets the pins. He just raises an eyebrow, but does not say anything, storing the information in that huge compartment of his brain that’s dedicated solely to Jaebeom for later. 

“We are almost done,” he tells him, with the intent to also distract the hairstylist from Jaebeom’s stealing fingers. He stands right before the chair, now, tempted to move between his boyfriend’s parted knees, press against him like he does whenever Jaebeom sits on the countertop to wait for breakfast whenever they wake up together. Resignedly, he just leans forward for his hands to reach Jaebeom’s face, instead, while still keeping a professional and oh-so-torturing distance, carefully applying a peachy highlighter on his sharp cheekbones and the tip of his nose.

“There you go,” Bambam whispers. He is dying to tell Jaebeom, over and over again, how deadly gorgeous he looks. How deadly gorgeous _he_ __i_ s. _

“Thanks,” it’s all Jaebeom says, beaming up at him.

Bambam waits for Jaebeom, who had to stay behind to have his interview for the magazine feature, by his car, Jaebeom’s backpack and his own designer bag dangling from his shoulders. After over three hours of shooting, which had dragged on and on, slowly killing him as he  _ yearned _ , watching Jaebeom change in a out of pretty, flowy blouses, pants that hugged every curve of his hips and sparkly accessories that made him shine under the blinding lights, Bambam swears he is about to melt into a puddle when his boyfriend finally shows up, obviously tired but still as gorgeous as ever. 

“Hi, baby,” Jaebeom is saying even before he gets close enough, and then he takes the bags from Bambam with a grateful but apologetic smile. Bambam notices that, this time, Jaebeom has not removed his makeup before leaving, and that his cheeks still look flushed with a healthy orange-y glow. 

He finds his voice somehow, despite having turned to putty, and makes sure it sounds whiny and cute, just like Jaebeom likes it. 

“Hi, hyung,” Bambam says back, throwing one of his arms around Jaebeom’s neck to half hug him. He feels Jaebeom shake, with a cute little silent giggle, against his abdomen, before he returns the hug with his arm snug around Bambam’s waist. “Your place or mine?” Bambam asks, taking a step back.

“Yours. You still have some of that wine I really like, right?”

“Of course, hyung,” Bambam replies as they both climb into the car, sheltered by the near complete darkness of the parking lot. “Let’s go get you a bit tipsy. You deserve it.”

They are sitting together on the couch, the television turned into a low hum that seems to rock them back and forth in their seats, the soft voices of the actors from the drama they are barely watching almost lulling them to sleep. Jaebeom is leaning his weight against Bambam, his bare feet resting on the couch while his cheek finds a home against the younger man’s shoulder. The flush from the wine and the heating room has joined the apricot blush on his face, the glow of his skin deeply intensified as it reddens and reddens. 

“I liked the makeup today, Bam,” Jaebeom suddenly says, playing with one of Bambam’s silver rings and occasionally chipping away at the nail polish he’s wearing. 

Bambam hums, content. “Really?”

“Yeah. I liked the, uh, lip tint.” 

Bambam notices the hesitant way in which Jaebeom is speaking now, suddenly restrained and shy. He knows how hard it is to bring back his hyung from the little, highly restricted corner of his brain where he feels self-conscious and doubtful, so he tries to lighten the mood before he runs to it and locks himself there. “Of course you did. I did a great job with it, hyung,” he shrugs, a scoff coming out of Jaebeom in that same instant. “I’m a pro, man,” Bambam adds in English, voice high and teasing. 

It makes Jaebeom giggle, but it’s still not that loud, unrestrained cackle that Bambam loves so much and his feline eyes still wander away, avoiding looking up at his boyfriend’s face. Bambam tries not to pry and dig in too abruptly for information, so he waits, in silence —a very, very rare occurrence— and lets the calming atmosphere settle around them. Not too long after, Jaebeom breathes in deeply, opening his mouth: he seems to have made up his mind. 

“Do you have, uh, anything darker?” Jaebeom asks, fidgeting with his sleeves and tucking his hair behind his ears in embarrassment, but still managing to control his voice, making himself sound determined.

“Sure,” Bambam says, almost breathless at the sudden question.

He instantly thinks of the Chanel Rouge he had impulse-bought on their latest launch after drinking too much wine and that he had hardly ever used on anyone, treasuring it away in his bedroom with a hint of guilt.  When he thinks of it now, he pictures it coloring Jaebeom’s pretty lips, smudged after kissing it off him, and almost shivers.

“Come with me, hyung,” he says, taking his hand and leading him to his bedroom. 

Once inside, he moves his leather ottoman from its place at the feet of his bed to right in front of his full-length mirror and gestures for Jaebeom to sit on it. He does as he’s told, obediently, and it makes something down Bambam’s spine tingle with desire. He finds the Chanel Rouge that he deeply treasures and moves towards his boyfriend again, but, this time, he does settle between his slightly parted knees, feeling his inner thighs burn pleasantly against his own legs, like he’d wanted to do inside the studio. Jaebeom cages him in, soft and warm and inviting. 

“Here,” Bambam says, placing his fingers under Jaebeom’s chin, “look up, hyung.”

He does, tilting his head back, slightly parting his lips to make Bambam’s job easier. And, even as Bambam looks down to his lips to make sure he doesn’t miss the line of their pinkish shape, Jaebeom still looks at his eyes, trying to ignore the violent way in which his heart has started to beat against his ribs, and never looks away.

Bambam is slightly leaning down, so tall and imposing over Jaebeom in his heeled Chelsea boots, and he works as focused as he would with any of his other clients, with as much direction and attention as he does with Jaebeom himself on almost a daily basis. It still feels different, they both can feel it in the pit of their stomachs. It’s charged, and heavy, and intimate, the way their breathings coordinate, following the same beat, the same rhythm. 

The easy slide of the lipstick against Jaebeom’s moist lips feels too sensual, too heated. Almost obscene. Bambam feels his own hand tremble a bit, forces himself to focus, but Jaebeom’s tongue peeking behind his teeth and the soft caress of his breath against Bambam’s fingers is enough to make his resolve crumble. He has to hold on a bit tighter to Jaebeom’s jaw, to force him to stay completely still, which makes Jaebeom’s breath hitch slightly. He seems willing to oblige, though, holding his breath until Bambam is done. 

When Bambam takes a step back, Jaebeom continues to sit still, looking up, his eyes glossy and his lips parted. Something hot and humid licks at Bambam’s insides at the sight of it: his hyung sitting pretty and obedient, hands resting on his lap, lips an intense red, his cheeks flushed and his pupils blown out. “It looks so pretty, hyung,” he starts to say, causing a small whine, almost inaudible, to leave Jaebeom’s red lips. 

“Look at yourself in the mirror, okay?” When Bambam tries to move to the side, however, Jaebeom suddenly wraps his fingers around his wrist, stopping him. 

“Wait,” he says, his free hand moving to the front pocket on his sweatshirt. “Here. I… I have these,” he mumbles, extending his hand towards Bambam and showing him his palm.

There are a few hairpins in it, the ones Bambam had randomly taken to pin Jaebeom’s hair back to do his makeup and that Jaebeom had put inside his pocket, unnoticed except for Bambam’s quick eyes. They glisten under the lights of the bedroom, the metal and the small jewels that ornate the ends of each of them burning hot against the skin of Jaebeom’s palm, then against Bambam’s fingers when he takes them from him, soft but determined.

He pulls the longest strands of Jaebeom’s jet black hair back, delicately holding them at the back of his head with the pins but letting his bangs and baby hairs playfully frame his forehead, accentuating the shape of his face and the sharp cut of his cheekbones. He makes quick but digilent work of it, expert hands and fingers combing every piece of hair in place, softly and caringly.  When Jaebeom sighs in contentment against Bambam’s bare wrist as he puts a stray piece of hair away from his forehead, it feels like a scolding hot whisper runs down his spine, making him almost tremble. It’s pure lust, tempting him to take over Jaebeom, drag him to bed, kiss him senseless.

“You look gorgeous, hyung. So pretty for me,” Bambam whispers, settling inside Jaebeom like molten lava that burns his insides. It ignites something in him and, instantly, it forces him to his knees, reverently, right in front of Bambam.

The undoing of the designer belt that Bambam’s wearing and of his skinny black jeans barely takes a few seconds, but it’s enough to make Bambam half hard inside his underwear. When Jaebeom frees his cock from it just to lick at his balls, tongue flat against the skin and lips glossy, moist, juicy and red, he thinks he is about to evaporate, right then and there. 

Jaebeom always takes him to the back of his throat, hungrily and desperately, obscenely choking on his shaft until he’s either drooling or almost crying. Today, however, he makes sure to take his time, to let his lips glide thoroughly down Bambam’s hard cock, leaving  _ rouge _ traces behind.

Bambam is pretty sure he’ll be the one crying tonight. 

It becomes a regular thing, the makeup, especially when they have gone a couple or a few days without seeing each other. Whenever Jaebeom comes back from promoting in a different country and invites his boyfriend over, Bambam always finds him in bed already, naked and squirming with arousal, wearing nothing except for the Chanel Rouge on his pretty, abused lips and leaking lube from his greedy, fingered-opened entrance.

It’s turned into one of  _ their things _ , actually. Jaebeom hardly ever wears any makeup that he considers  _ too over the top  _ for his schedules, going back to that chapstick, foundation and barely-there-eyeshadow routine he loves, or opting for going completely bare-faced when makeup is not required.  With Bambam, though, inside any of their apartments, it’s different. He has found a new habit for pampering himself for his boyfriend: he shaves his body entirely, properly styles his hair, and puts on that vibrant, red lipstick almost every night, fingering himself open right after and waiting for him enduringly.

Sometimes, however, he purposely waits for Bambam to get home but, instead, asks him to do it all for him. And Bambam obligues, hands shaky with unaltered lust as he completely undresses Jaebeom, delicately braids his hair, then orders him to lie down in bed before he colors his lips red and applies a bit of that apricot blush to his cheekbones. The blush is usually joined by a sudden rush of blood to Jaebeom’s cheeks when his boyfriend proceeds to eat him out, tongue buried deep inside him.

Bambam isn’t present for Jaebeom’s next magazine cover shooting a couple of weeks later. He had promised to drive him there, at least, since someone else was doing his makeup this time, but he hadn’t woken up in time, too warm and comfortable to will his body to get up. Jaebeom had finally resigned and left with his manager around eight in the morning, with Bambam still soundly asleep under the weight of his cats and his silk sheets. 

When Bambam finally wakes up, eyelids heavy, he finds two new messages from Jaebeom on his phone. It’s a pouty selfie on the car and a simple ‘I miss you’ that makes Bambam’s heart flutter.

‘I miss you too, hyung,’ he types, attaching a picture of two of the cats snuggling together around his ankles. ‘I’m sorry I overslept. I’ll make it up to you.’

He sees the little message that reads ‘typing…’ next to Jaebeom’s profile picture and waits, despite the huge effort he has to put in to stay awake.

The typing suddenly stops. No text comes in, so Bambam furrows his eyebrows, confused. Jaebeom seems to have changed his mind: he sends a new picture, instead, no other message attached to it this time.

“Fuck,” Bambam mutters, his heart climbing up to his throat and his cock twitching inside his underwear when he opens it.

It’s a picture of Jaebeom, inside a dimly-lit changing room, pointing his phone at the mirror in front of him. He’s wearing a white shirt, the first four buttons undone, showing the pale expanse of his collarbones, his neck, one of his shoulders. And then, right below his chest, a black corset closes around his waist, hugging the slight curve of it, ending just above his hip bones, where his hips start widening. Bambam groans, mouth almost watering. Jaebeom’s cute, stubby fingers are not-so-innocently caressing the intricate lacing in the front that ties it all together, tight around him, suggestively tangling in it. The shirt ends right below his underwear, showing off his naked, full thighs and Bambam feels the urge,  _ the need, _ to bury his face between them.

Jaebeom  _ must _ know what he is doing to him right now. Bastard. 

A new message comes in, making Bambam’s phone vibrate against his palm. ‘Do you like it?’ it reads. 

‘Hyung.  Fuck.  Can you bring it home?’

‘Maybe,’ Jaebeom types back.

Bambam opts for sending a sticker of someone with a nosebleed. That conveys  _ exactly _ how he feels in that moment, cock hard inside his underwear, blood rushing aggressively through his veins. He looks around his bed then, meets Cupcake’s eyes as she looks up at him, slightly judgy, and it makes him whine in annoyance, finally getting up. Of course he can’t jerk off in front of  _ the kids _ , he laments as he heads towards the bathroom, with a pool full of heat inside his stomach that threatens to spill all over him and maybe suffocate him to death.

To Bambam’s disappointment, Jaebeom does not bring the corset home —‘I was joking, Bam’, he tells him with a chuckle as Bambam pouts. ‘Did you want me to steal it, or what?’—, but the image has now engraved itself into Bambam’s brain, digging and burying itself there. He wants to answer that  _ yes _ , in fact, it would have been a good idea to steal it. A  _ great  _ idea. His best idea ever, probably.

For the next few days after that, whenever they have sex, all he pictures is Jaebeom, Jaebeom and Jaebeom, his glowy, milky skin, his pliant and open legs. He pictures him spread all over his bed, wearing the Chanel Rouge on his lips, of course, like he does almost every night now. But his mind, dirty and betraying, adds a new detail to that picture that makes him come that much faster inside Jaebeom’s tight body: a matching blood red corset that hugs his waist tightly, that leaves a mark behind, an imprint where it cinches tight, after Bambam undoes every single lace and frees a squirming Jaebeom beneath him. 

He’s finally decided to bring it up, after having talked himself in and out of doing it at least a dozen times, but, as it turns out, he doesn’t even need to.

Jaebeom sits him down on his own bed one night and he asks, seductive and sultry and everything that’s unholy, for Bambam to do his makeup and hair and to prep him to be fucked, handing him the lube. He’s already naked, pliant and obedient like he usually gets when Bambam orders him to lie on the mattress, so it doesn’t take much convincing, of course. 

Three of Bambam’s fingers are tightly buried inside Jaebeom’s hole when he calls Bambam’s name, voice small and tone hesitant and questioning. It makes Bambam look up from his clenching entrance, mumble a “Mmm, hyung?” and fuck that much harder against Jaebeom’s walls, his fingers finding a cadence that punches a gasp out of Jaebeom before he even gets to answer.

“I want to try something,” Jaebeom says, shaky and doubtful. “I  _ bought _ something.” 

Bambam bites his lips, arches his eyebrows, now extremely curious.

“A new toy? Want me to fuck you with it instead?”

Jaebeom shakes his head no, squirming and whining when Bambam’s fingers start moving faster, making him shiver and shiver.

“N-no. I need to go get it. It’s, uh,  _ fuck _ , it’s outside. You’ll have to wait.”

And wait he does.

When Jaebeom reenters the room, all Bambam can see is red, vivid, burning and aching. There's lace everywhere, sinking into naked skin, and firm muscle and plump flesh spilling out of intricate, delicate designs. Jaebeom approaches the bed, doubtful at first, and Bambam watches from his seat on it, rapt and drowning in ecstasy, as Jaebeom's thick thighs tremble against sheer, black stockings, as his hard cock peeks out of the barely-there red panties, already wet from Jaebeom's gaping entrance still leaking with lube against the lacey fabric. Jaebeom takes in a deep breath when Bambam offers him his hand, but it's restrained by the red corset that he had snugly tied around his waist, fingers white and trembling and head clouded with lust and need. He suffocates around the corset and the arousal and the need to be filled, and filled, and filled.

Shakingly, he takes Bambam's hand, Bambam kisses his. It's sweet, overly so, and Jaebeom melts at it, biting his bottom lip and tasting the Chanel Rouge against his teeth.

Bambam turns him around then, moves the delicate panties to the side, baring Jaebeom's entrance as he parts his cheeks almost forcefully, barely holding himself back. "So beautiful, hyung. All of you."

Jaebeom whines, high and affected, his throat almost closing around the sound. "Don't... don't call me _that_ now," Jaebeom struggles to say.

That's all it takes for Bambam to understand. He hums, pushes his fingers back into Jaebeom until he throws his head back and cries out and clenches around all three of them, needy and ripe, burying them deep within. "What'd you rather be called?," Bambam whispers, teasing but reassuring. " _Babygirl_? Like the pretty, little thing that you are?"

Jaebeom groans and nods furiously, his parted thighs trembling until his knees almost give out, forcing Bambam to hold up his weight. He's buzzing with need and unwavering lust and Bambam's fingers feel electrifying as they force him open but it's not enough. He cries out, a chant of _more, more_ and more being punching out of his red lips.

He's being guided back into the mattress, yet again, not too long after, and, when he's finally right where Bambam wants him, lying on his back with his legs spread wide open and his cock leaking into his stomach, he feels absolutely no shame. Not when Bambam caresses, almost worshipping, the intricate design of his corset with shaky fingers, when he gets impossibly hard as he smears Jaebeom's lipstick with one of the fingers that had been buried inside him not that long ago, when he almost rips the wet panties as he pushes them to the side to finally bury his cock inside the warm heat of Jaebeom's body.

"Fuck. Your cunt is so wet, babygirl," it's all Bambam has to whisper, heavy and loaded and dirty, against Jaebeom's ear, for him to come all over the red lace.

"Thank you," Jaebeom whispers into the silence of the room while Bambam cleans him up, tender and devoted. When Bambam looks up at his face, they both know the gratitude goes far beyond that.

"Thank _you_ , hyung, for trusting me."


End file.
